Electricity
by I-am-LMR
Summary: Sequel to The Other Side. Another funny murder mystery with furtherance of the cheesy romantic subplot. BA 'ship story. Mystery, Humor, Romance Rated K plus for murder, mild language, and mild sexuality Yay! There's sexuality this time! readers cheer
1. But the Toe Bone's Supposed to be Connec

**Electricity**

**By LMR**

Summary: Sequel to "The Other Side." Another funny murder mystery with furtherance of thecheesy romantic subplot. BA 'ship story Mystery, Humor, Romance Rated K plus for murder, mild language, and mild sexuality ("Yay! There's sexuality this time!" readers cheer.)

A.N.: You really have to read "The Other Side" first or you're going to miss some important details. It won't be too painful, I promise.

**xXx **A.N. 2 (the important one!): I want to really really thank you guys for all your reviews for "T.O.S" on and for the read count on When I'm having a bad day, reading these reviews just lifts me up again. I can _**never**_ thank you enough for that! I love you guys!

A.N. 3 (no, this one's important, too. _**Really!**_): For some unknown reason, Claire (guitar73girl) is still Beta'ing for me. I would like to thank her for that. Very much. Also, I would like to call in Mulder and Scully to find out what ungodly force would make someone continue Beta'ing this stuff.

A.N. 4: There is not A.N. 4. I was just seeing if I could actually make the notes longer than the chapter.

Disclaimer: I'll bring them right back, I swear!

**Chapter 1: But the Toe Bone's Supposed to be Connected to the Foot Bone!**

**xXx**

In New York City's War on Crime, the worst criminal offenders are pursued by the detectives of the Major Case Squad. These are their stories. **Doink, doink.**

It was a dark and stormy night. Actually it was a bright Tuesday morning with a light breeze and a 14.785 percent chance of rain. But I've always wanted to start a story that way.

Anywho...

The young man took another gulp of water; set the glass down on the cluttered computer desk. He hastily jotted the number he'd just googled on the nearest scrap of paper he could find. He snorted a bit when he realized how appropriate this particular scrap was. _All the better. _He glanced at his watch. Yikes! He hastily exited out of the Internet and minesweeper and shut down his computer. He was late for work already, so there was no calling now._ I can call during lunch_, he figured.

_It's not going to kill me to wait a few hours. _

xXx

Grady Goodenhoppen stared at the toe. Toes, he knew, were supposed to grow out of feet, all ten of them. But this particular toe, he noted, was not. It was doing what his Daddy would have called thinking outside the box. Pushing the envelope. Being proactive not reactive. Taking it to the next level. Shifting the paradigm.

Because this particular toe was growing out of the ground.

Grady poked the toe. _Hm. _He poked it again. He wondered if it would grow leaves and petals. He would really like to see a toe with petals! The thought made him giggle. He wondered what color the petals would be.

Maybe polka dots.

Cherish, Grady's nanny, was thinking about sneezing. Not that she was _considering _sneezing - just thinking about it. Was it some kind of divine joke? And why is it some people always sneeze a certain number of times? Did people have sneeze numbers, and they always sneezed the same every time? Or was it just a coincidence that Mrs. Goodenhoppen _always _sneezed exactly four times? _And why is "sneeze" such a funny word, anyway? _she wondered. _Sneeze, sneeze, sneeze._

"Nana, I found a toe," Grady reported solemnly, bringing Cherish out of her thoughts. "It's growing out of the ground, and it's got squirmy rice on it, too!"

"A what?" His nanny came to his side. She gasped when she saw what he had found. "Oh, no! Grady get away from that! Go back to the house," she insisted, reaching for her cell. "I said go back to the house _now_," Cherish emphasized when he remained, staring mesmerized at the maggot-ridden toe. She shivered as she dialed 911.

Doink, doink, doo-doo-doo-doo-doo! Doink, doink, doo-doo-doo-doooo-doo!

**xXx**

Next week:

"'There's a phone number, no name with it.' Goren held the business card delicately in his fingers, looking at the back. 'And it could have something to do with why he was killed.'"

A.N. 15: This story completely disregards the current season, in which the writers don't seem to know what "in character" means. "Now it's too late." WTF, Eames!?

Have I mentioned that I like reviews? A lot?


	2. Thrown Away

**Electricity**

**By LMR**

Disclaimer: Hello, LMR. I want to play a game. For years you have wasted hours on a computer typing out the lives of imaginary people you didn't even create - characters who belong to Dick Wolf, not you. Now we will find out how much you _appreciate _your creativity. Your computer is wired to a system of electric shocks. You have three hours to type a ten chapter story. If you do not, LMR, there will be enough electricity in your body to light your entire city for five days. And I should tell you, the keyboard is wired to give you a small reminder shock every time you mention the name of someone else's character. How many dumb clichés will you use to make a disclaimer? Live or write fanfiction: Make your choice.

Goren (OUCH!) and Eames (EEEEK!) don't belong to me. Neither does $#in' Jigsaw (AACK), but the _Saw _Uncut DVD taught me that if your fanfiction is bad enough, they might mention it in the commentary! Hey, Vincent, Kathryn; are you reading this garbage???? (Yay! _Saw iv_! Yay!)

A.N.: Super thanks to Claire who not only Betas, but teaches me cool new words like "chuffed." Those crazy English!

**Chapter 2: Thrown Away**

**xXx**

Alex scowled across the double desks. Everything on her partner's desk was in its place. The replacement Santa mug bridging the gap between his desk and hers. Coffee left and center. That portfolio right in front of him. The reminder pad just above it, with that dumb little caterpillar.

_Stupid caterpillar. _

Stupid caterpillar with no note above it. No profession of how much she cared. No joke about his precious geekiness. No nothing. She couldn't believe it.

After just three short months, Bobby had thrown it out.

_Petty? Yes. Childish? Yes. Pathetic? Probably. But he's supposed to keep it, _she thought ruefully._ He's supposed to remember. It's supposed to be there to solidify and bolster his precarious and always fragile self-confidence, damn it!_

Apparently her displeasure was on parade. "You okay?" Bobby wondered, brows furrowed in concern. 

"Hm? Yeah I'm fine." _You big insensitive meanie._

A serious voice shook her out of her self-pitying stupor. "Goren, Eames." Captain Deakins gestured for them to come into his office.

She looked at her partner and raised an eyebrow, abandoning her hurt in anticipation of the challenge their new case might have in store.

Maybe some entertainment, too. Lately, their cases had been kind of... well, funny. Huh.

Goren shrugged back at her in a gesture of _we'll see._

In the office, Eames sat absently tugging at the fabric on the arm of her chair; looking at the commendations, memorabilia, and decorations on the wall and... was that a ceramic cat?! "It's good to be back, Detectives," their captain said cheerfully once they had settled.

Eames looked at him quizzically and vocalized what she and Goren were both thinking, "From where?"

"The break room," Deakins answered incredulously, leaning forward on his desk and glancing between the two. "Where do you think? It feels like I've been in there for a year."

Goren agreed, somewhat confused. He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd missed something. He glanced at his partner, who was wearing a similar expression. _Nah._

Their captain, satisfied that everything was settled, started the briefing. "New case: Kid found a body that'd been dumped in a shallow grave on the corner of Turtleman and Timbuktu. Looks like he's been there a while. You're on it," he continued, seeing a question on Eames's face. "Because the kid who found the body is filthy rich and it brought a bunch of press attention," Deakins explained, gesturing to the morning paper on his desk which screamed "Goodenhoppen Heir Finds Body," followed closely by "Suspect Apprehended in Great Pinochle Heist" and "Yak Wins Lassie Look-a-Like Contest."

"He's the heir to the tape tab fortune," Deakins explained.

Both detectives just stared. "The...?"

"Yeah, you know, you get a roll of Scotch tape, there's that little tab at the end so it doesn't stick to itself before you hook it up on the tearing dealie?" He pantomimed this for a moment until he realized just how ridiculous he looked; cleared his throat in a dignified way and continued. "His great-great-great grandfather patented that thing. Still brings in an obscene amount of money. Everyone calls him the Paris Hilton of the adhesive industry."

Eames just nodded, glad she didn't hang around with "Everyone."

He nodded. "That's all. And on your way out, wouldja' send the others in here?" He gestured to the alternate Major Case team outside the office. They nodded ascent and left, catching the beginning of what was sure to be a completely pointless conversation.

"Hey, Logan," his partner snapped. "Ya' miss me?"

"I didn't even notice you were gone, Barek. Where'd you get to?"

"The bathroom, 'course, where'd you think, oh Brilliant Deductor?" She smacked his arm playfully.

"Don't call me that!"

_Wow_, Barek thought. _My partner is showin' modesty. Some semblance of humility. Some indicator that-_

"Makes me feel like I'm going to get audited!" 

_Never mind._

"Our captain wants you in his office," Eames said simply, while Goren simply watched the two, obviously amused, listening to Barek utter some insult under her breath that he could have sworn was Swedish.

xXx

Turtleman and Timbuktu Streets - Monday, July 2 - 10:47 a.m. **Doink, doink**.

The sun was hot on the detectives' backs as they out of the SUV at the crime scene. Turtleman and Timbuktu were roads off the beaten path of the city. There was actual grass, not pavement, around the intersection, though said grass was now brown in the July heat. The body was stashed under only a few inches of sandy soil.

"He was stabbed in the throat, several small punctures. No weapon. White male, early twenties, approximately six feet, and blonde's all we can tell at a glance," the CSU officer reported as they approached the scene. "We wanted to wait until you got here to do anything beyond that. Looks like he's been here for about a week."

Eames scrunched up her nose. "Smells like it, too." The officer got a nod from her before going back to conversing with the photographer.

"Body was called in by the Goodenhoppen nanny, Cherish Ross," Goren said, repeating what he'd heard from another officer on site. 

"Don't say that name," Eames hissed, suddenly irritable.

Goren's face scrunched up in puzzlement. "Why not?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "Just don't." He shrugged, and giving no indicator that he even noticed the smell, crouched down by the shallow grave.

He busied himself examining the boy's hands for defensive wounds. There were none. His hands were clean but contained no clues as to what he might have been killed for or who he was (other than the fact that he was probably single. Big whoop). Goren started determinedly fishing around the man's jeans, gently lifting the body to get to the hip pockets. He triumphantly pulled a wallet out from under the kid; opened it. "Justin Buck," he reported, looking at the driver's license he'd found. "Three twenty nine Shrewsbury Street. Twenty-four years old." He rifled through the money section. "Few dollars. Several credit cards. Not much else, he kept a tidy wallet." He frowned, slipping a finger into another little section, pulling out a business card. "Hair She Blows Salon."

He slipped the wallet into the evidence baggie Eames was holding out for him.

"There's a phone number, no name with it." Goren held the business card delicately in his fingers, looking at the back. "And it could have something to do with why he was killed."

"Even _you _don't have the phone book memorized. It could be anything. Probably some girl."

"Well, I definitely know this one: It's our phone number. This guy was going to tell us something."

"He was planning to rat someone out. Maybe a partner."

Goren nodded. "His having this card doesn't make sense. This guy's no meterosexual. I mean, his hair's a mess, even besides the fact that he's, you know, dead," he added in concession. "Not the type to care about a salon. No other business cards on him. He's carrying this one, it means there's something special about that place."

"I'm guessing it wasn't the mousse," Eames ventured.

**xXx**

Next week:

"'Bobby, I found a note. 'Justin, the house isn't the same without you. Get well soon and come back to us. Koto.' Sounds like he was in the hospital. But there's no indication he was living with anyone, he's never owned a house. And 'us' makes it sound like there's kids, and he didn't have any. None of it makes sense.'"


	3. Things We Keep

**Electricity**

**By LMR**

Disclaimer: After the last few seconds of "Smile," if I owned Criminal Intent, I would combine Eames with the movie I am watching right now. That movie is _Saw iii._

A.N.: Extra thanks to Claire (guitar73girl) who Beta's, slices, dices, and comes in this attractive travel case! But wait, there's more!

**Chapter 3: Things We Keep**

**xXx**

"What do we know about the victim?" their captain asked.

Eames handed Deakins a stack of papers. "He worked at Cryptkicker Creations, a small special effects studio. His family lives in North Dakota. His friends at Cryptkicker reported him missing the 26th of June. His parents are flying in now. And he wrote a lot of checks to someone named Hoover Matthews with the memo "Storm." Still no idea what that means."

Goren finished, "We found the precinct crime tip number on the back of a business card. Looks like he was either blackmailing someone or going to turn that person in. We're thinking that could be motive. We think the card it was written on could be important. We're going to check the place out after his apartment."

Home of Justin Buck - 329 Shrewsbury St. - Monday, July 2 - 11:15 a.m. **Doink, doink**.

The two walked into the apartment with forensics in tow. The lush green carpeting reminded Goren of grass. Fitting, as the room suggested that Justin had been an outdoorsman. Kites and Frisbees lined the blue walls, proudly hung by fishing wire as decorations as if they were still up and flying. Even the warm and cozy lamp fixture on the ceiling suggested the sun. The book _Extreme Kiting and You_ was prominently displayed on the modern coffee table, along with _Snorkel Customization for Dummies_ and _Great Nimbuses and Cirri of the Twentieth Century_. There was also a picture book of synchronized swimming. Snapshots of various B-movie monsters, presumably by Cryptkicker Creations, littered the black refrigerator and bulletin board, along with some very amateur photos of interesting cloud formations. Also what appeared to be a Polaroid of Justin posing with... the Roaming Gnome?

Goren examined the various photos while Eames got to work on the computer in the corner. He gazed at one particular photo for a little longer than the others. A group of people, all in swimsuits, lined up next to a pool, and smiling for the camera. It was a formal picture, and he was much more interested in the one poking out from behind it. It looked like it had been taken moments after. The same group, casual, laughing, giving each other bunny ears. There was somebody new in the picture, a middle aged man in overalls hovering over the group, his arms around one of the women. His eyes traveled back to the formal photo. The back had a series of names, apparently in order of the line the swimmers were standing in. Penny Syllin, Justin Buck, Jim Shu, Nick L. Dime, Audra Nicholson, and Iskra Kent. Kent. Why did that name sound so familiar? Nah, probably nothing.

Eames was looking through Justin's bedroom dresser while her partner examined the kitchen. He found all the staples of bachelorhood. Beer. Ramen. Pizza. Beer. Beer-battered Ramen pizza with beer sauce.

Eames stood at the dresser with a worn but gently folded bit of paper. "Bobby, I found a note. 'Justin, the house isn't the same without you. Get well soon and come back to us. Koto.' Sounds like he was in the hospital. But there's no indication he was living with anyone, he's never owned a house. And 'us' makes it sound like there's kids, and he didn't have any. None of it makes sense."

Goren had moseyed to the desk area to join her. "Is it dated?" he asked, looking at the opposite wall.

"Last October."

Bobby grinned. "Different kind of house." He gently took Alex's shoulders and guided her around to the wall he was facing. He was admiring the picture like a kid might take in a circus ad, dazzled. It was a black light poster full of hideous creatures advertising a haunted house attraction put on by Cryptkicker Creations. "Koto worked at the studio with him."

Eames's brow furrowed. "Okay. But why would he keep some little note from a co-worker for so long?" _And why didn't you?_ she added mentally. _My note was better than _that

Bobby shrugged, fingering the paper gently. "Well, see how it's been lovingly folded and obviously looked at over and over: See the creases? And Koto's a woman's name. Maybe he kept it because he was in love." _I can't believe I just said that! _

But Eames just nodded. "Where there's love, there's a motive for murder. We'll hit the workplace after we find out what's so hot about Hair She Blows."

**xXx**

Next week:

"'Aw, you'll look great, Hon,' Alex promised, touching the hair beside his face, letting herself brush her fingers over his cheek.

'I don't look great now?' Bobby teased, and Alex wondered if he was letting himself be real for a moment."


	4. Under the Covers er I mean undercover

**Electricity**

**By LMR**

Disclaimer: _I _didn't steal CI. It was given to me by a stranger in a trenchcoat. He was selling it out of his trunk. How was I supposed to know it was stolen!?

A.N.: As always, lots of thanks to guitar73girl for Beta'ing and for suggesting I leave out the upcoming kissing scene. _**I am kidding.**_ Please refrain from sending hate-mail and rotten tomatoes to my poor Beta. (And FYI if you haven't read it yet, "All About Him" is getting all about **HOT**. Go read.)

A.N. 2: Thank you thank you thank you for the reviews!!!

**Chapter 4: Under the Covers... er, I mean undercover**

**xXx**

Hair She Blows Salon - Monday, July 2- 1:83 p.m. **Doink, doink**.

Upon entering Hair She Blows Salon, the two detectives were overwhelmed with an assault of pink. Pink curtains, pink counters, pink floors, even pink baubles hanging from the ceiling. Eames raised an eyebrow at her partner. "This is what happens when somebody takes Pepto and throws up anyway," she whispered. He would have laughed, but had no time to process the thought before they were approached by a beautiful, tiny black woman with short hair and a somewhat croaky voice. "Hi, welcome to Hair She Blows. I'm Cathy. How can I help you?"

Clutching her "husband's" arm, Eames started rattling off their story. "Well, actually, our friend recommended someone he saw here, but I don't remember the name, our friend's name is Justin. Justin Buck. Tall guy. Skinny," she added, feeling a pang at the truthfulness of the word - how skinny the man had become. "Blondish long hair."

"Oh, Justin! Yeah, he was always done up by..." Her tone shifted significantly. "By Iskra Kent." The detectives mentally recorded the name. Cathy's shoulders slumped. She licked her lips nervously; swallowed. Her whole demeanor had changed. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, wiping a tear from her eye. "I... Iskra had an accident about this time last year. She was killed by a storm while she was swimm-" She stopped, realizing she was rambling. "Well, I'm sorry to be so flustered. I- We were good friends."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Eames said abashed, sincerity in her voice. "Um," she grasped for the name. "Cathy. I'm sorry."

"That's all right," she said, sniffing one last time, composing herself. "I shouldn't. I mean; it was so long ago." She took a deep breath. "Now for your styling, I'm here." She gestured to a woman in the corner, working on an older man's head. "And there's Megan, she'll be finished in a minute." The detectives glanced at each other in a moment of mild confusion, not completely sure why they didn't like hearing that particular name. _Nah._

"Now, who's getting the cut?"

"I am- I dunno," Bobby mumbled. "It's fine like it is," he said, his voice bordering on whiny.

"Aw, you'll look great, Hon," Alex promised, touching the hair beside his face, letting herself brush her fingers over his cheek, determined to make the most of every moment. _Did he just shiver?_

"I don't look great now?" Bobby teased, and Alex wondered if he was letting himself be real for a moment.

"Adorable," she confirmed, kissing his nose to underscore the point. Also because she could. _Hmm. I am actually kissing a piece of Robert Goren's anatomy. My lips are actually _on _Bobby. My mouth is touching his skin. If only I could move a little lower... _ "But you'll look even better."

_She kissed me. Albeit on the nose, but she actually kissed me. She's just pretending... right? But she doesn't need to kiss me for the assignment. So maybe she just wanted to. Eames wanted to kiss me. I think._

Cathy led him to the shampoo sink and turned on the water, testing it with her hand. "Would you like to cover up the... uh..." The hairdresser hesitated, obviously itching to do something about his gray, but reluctant to say so. Alex smirked.

She remembered the time she'd first noticed that his hair was graying. She'd been about fifteen months pregnant when, for the first time of many, he'd come bearing food. He'd announced that the Chinese place had accidentally given him the wrong meal. They'd given the mistake meal to him for free, and it sure would be a shame to let it go to waste.

The accidental meal was healthy, of course, with lots of folic acid.

Or maybe the gray had shown up before that, and she hadn't noticed because she'd been looking at him with those rosy love goggles she hadn't even known she was wearing. But that had been the best Chinese she'd ever had, because it came with a special message. (No, not the fortune cookie.) _I need you. _

The gray came with that same sentiment. She thought it was beautiful.

"Let's leave it," the hairdresser suggested. "The silver's sexy."

She looked to Alex for confirmation. She nodded agreement, following her gesture with a "Yeah, I think so." that was quiet, but still audible to Bobby who beamed at the praise from both women; it was nice to hear it from the friendly hairdresser, but from _Alex_. _She's just acting, _he reminded himself as she brushed her hand through his hair again.

Cathy got to work lathering up as Eames took a seat next to the sink. She and Goren couldn't see each other as well as they would have liked, which meant their famous telepathy was going to be put to the test. "I'm sorry about the way I acted earlier." Goren started to tell her that it was fine, but she continued, obviously unhurt. "I don't mind talking about Iskra at all: You caught me off guard, that's all. She was such a sweet person, best listener you've ever met, which is perfect for this job of course. Probably the only reason she kept at it. She had more money than she knew what to do with."

Goren twisted a little in his chair and she saw his lashes depart from her view for a little longer than was completely natural, as if he were closing his eyes to think. And without eye contact, she knew he was thinking the same thing:

_Motive_.

"How did she meet Justin, anyway?" Eames wondered, chin in her hand, trying to look casual. "He was a little vague." 

"Oh, they met through her swim team."

Eames raised an eyebrow. _ A connection to her death. Interesting. _"Swim team, neat. Local?"

"Mm-hm. Not a swim team _per se_. Synchronized swimming." Eames made an inquiring noise, encouraging Cathy. And Cathy didn't need much encouragement: She was a chatterbox. "Well, their team, they call it 'Storm,' all kinds of people from different jobs and everything, all united in their love of hopping around in the water grinning like idiots. I told Iskra it was ridiculous. Now I really wish she had listened. I told her family they should sue the pool management, letting her stay in there during a thunderstorm! They told her to get out, apparently, but she just wanted to practice her eggbeater. 'Five more minutes,' she'd said. 'What're the odds?' she'd said." Cathy snorted. "Wasn't the brightest crayon in the box, Iskra," she said, affectionately.

Shaking the image of someone actually _wanting _to be an eggbeater, she turned back to her husband, ready to wheedle more information out of Cathy. "Bobby, I told you I wanted to look into a pool in the area to join." Goren made a vague noise like someone trying to sound like he cared. "You said it was nearby?"

"Yup, the Nopienit Pool, right at the corner of 9th andKickapoo Streets." 

"Oh, that's not far from us, Hon," Eames pointed out enthusiastically. "We should check that out!"

"Umph," he replied, sounding annoyed.

"Must be a very relaxing rinse. You've rendered him incoherent." Alex squeezed Bobby's shoulder, who did his best to look irritated rather than heady as he was guided over to the styling chair and pumped up off the floor.

Cathy snipped her scissors with relish and a trace of impish glee in her eyes.

xXx

"It'll look better once it grows out a little. Really," Alex touted encouragingly, fussing with his hair and trying to hold back a smile.

"Grumph," was Goren's only reply. "Good thing she's a better gossip than she is a hairdresser. If Justin was at the pool when Iskra had her accident, he might have known something."

Eames turned the possibilities over in her mind, thinking aloud. "Foul play, or maybe just a liability problem. Something someone didn't want him to know. Didn't want him to tell us." Goren nodded agreement.

**xXx**

Next time:

"He was so devoted. The idiot hyperventilated himself till he passed out once, he was so determined to make a mad scientist routine look real for some teenagers.' She sobbed a laugh. 'And he's the best zombie you'd ever see,' she said, emotion in her voice."

Please review. I'll be your best friend!


	5. Living Dead Girl

**Electricity**

**By LMR**

Disclaimer: When I worked the haunted house circut, I dressed up as someone who owns CI. Now that would be _really _scary.

A.N.: Thanks to Claire (guitar73girl) who finds time to Beta in her busy life as supermodel, neurosurgeon, astronautical engineer, and Scotland Yard agent.

A.N.2: And thank you, thank you, thank you to all of you who give me such wonderful (and helpful) reviews! You make kitty happy.

**Chapter 5: Living Dead Girl**

**xXx**

Cryptkicker Creations - Monday, July 2 - 2:04 p.m. **Doink, doink**.

When they arrived at Justin's studio, there was heavy metal on the speakers and a young woman standing behind the counter. Her sleek black hair was short, and she'd spiked and curled it up around her head. She wore punk clothing and a rainbow wristband.

"You're in charge here, Miss...?" Goren asked her.

"Koto Su. Yes, this is my studio. Can I h-" She dropped off as the detectives showed their badges.

"I'm Detective Eames, this is my partner, Detective Goren. We're here about Justin Buck," she said, looking her over for a reaction.

Su's eyes were red, they noted. She'd obviously heard the news. She made a little "Oh..."and her shoulders slumped. "We're sorry about your coworker, Miss Su," Eames continued. "How well did you know Mr. Buck?"

"I started the factory in 2001. He's -he'd been with us from the beginning. We're - we were tight. He was always so enthusiastic in everything he did for the house. He loved the studio, of course, but the house was his passion," she explained. "He jumped in with gusto, always. You should see his psychopath." She smiled, apparently reminiscing.

"We'll take your word for it," Eames said simply. "Can we see the possessions he left here?" she wondered.

"Um-hm." Koto gestured for them to follow her.

As they followed Su, they saw her nonchalantly step over a trip wire, smiling mischievously as she did so. Goren shrugged at Eames and tripped it anyway.

Just to see.

Su scowled as they barely noted the wailing specter that swooped down only an inch from the top of Goren's head. He ducked to let it pass. Neither one flinched as an evil clown threw itself on the floor two paces in front of Eames, giggling diabolically. She simply stepped over it, paying no attention.

Koto pouted. If there was one thing she hated, it was people who refused to be scared by her trappings.

That and sauerkraut.

"He was so devoted," she continued as she went deeper into the studio. "The idiot hyperventilated himself till he passed out once, he was so determined to make a mad scientist routine look real for some teenagers." She sobbed a laugh. "And he's the best zombie you'd ever see," she said, emotion in her voice. The detectives sensed this was a compliment and nodded accordingly as they were accosted from the left by a headless groom. Eames brushed passed it; Goren followed.

"When was the last time you saw him?" Eames wondered.

She turned to face them, casually leaning on a mummy. "Three weeks ago. He was here when I was doing test make-up for _Radioactive Zombies from Hell_. It was my job to make them look nuked. Nice healthy radioactive glow, you know." She pantomimed covering her face with make-up. Goren could see that she was hinting for them to act impressed. Eames gave the girl her patented _I'm smiling but I think you're an idiot _look. "The last thing he said to me was that my zombies were the most hellish he'd ever seen." She smiled sadly. "I'll miss him."

"Were you and Justin involved?" Eames asked abruptly.

"Huh? No, he's not my type," Su said simply, leading them again. "Especially not now," she added seriously after a moment of consideration. Seeing the look on the detectives' faces, she hastened to add, "Justin would have laughed at that. He had a sick sense of humor."

Bobby grinned at Alex and got a fake scowl for his trouble while Koto walked ahead of them, oblivious to the exchange. "What is your type, then?" Goren asked as Su turned back to face them. He had a suspicion... She gestured toward a young woman standing in the corner, animated, talking with a group of friends and made up as a dead girl scout. "Did Justin know about your... type?" Goren wondered, turning back to her.

She shrugged. "Sure. I mean..." She re-thought this a moment. "I guess so... maybe not. It never really came up. Why?"

"We need to know how he was connected to everyone in his life," Eames clarified. "Get the whole picture. If he had a girlfriend, or was in love, we'd want to know."

"Um, not that I know of, but like I said, he was all about the work. Most of our casual conversations involved movies like _The Killer Shrews, The Giant Gila Monster,_ and _Killer Klowns from Outer Space_." She shrugged.

They arrived at a dingy locker room, Eames rolling her eyes when a vulture spread his wings in her path. She ducked under it easily; watched with some amusement as her partner tried to fit his ample frame either under or around it. "Could you hit the light?" the young woman asked. "I've still got make-up on my hands from yesterday's shoot of _The Thing That Won't Die Until We Make Eighteen Sequels_, or something like that. Doesn't matter how much cold cream you use, it just doesn't come off for about a week." Goren flipped the switch. "Top row, third locker from the end," she instructed. "We left it as is."

"We appreciate that," Goren told her.

His partner started rifling through the magazines inside, passing each to him after reading out loud the title and headline. "'Your Organs Quarterly: Pamper your pancreas and preen your spleen!' 'Darners' Digest (Not just for socks anymore!),' 'Quantum Physics for Your Everyday Life: Why Antimatter matters.' Bobby, stop reading the evidence."

"I'm not, I found..." he opened the top magazine to a page that wouldn't settle with the rest. There was a photo in it, propping it open. "Hey Alex, look at this picture."

_Wait, what did he call me?_ Alex froze, trying to wrap her head around what she'd just heard. _Okay, Bobby likes patterns. Bobby likes routine. Bobby likes _status quo_. Bobby won't like for me to mention it._

_And I should probably hold off on the Snoopy dance._

"Yeah?" She looked at the photo he was holding out. It was a picture of a swimming pool. The lens had been aimed at some clouds, but clearly captured the side of the pool as well. It took a moment for Eames to realize what she was seeing. There was a huge stereo at the side of the pool.

A wet stereo.

"It wasn't an accident, and he had proof," she surmised.

"He must've realized recently, maybe he just got the picture developed. He took a picture of the sky..." Goren pantomimed as he talked.

"And caught a picture of a crime scene," his partner finished.

"Detectives?" Su poked her head into the locker room. "Are you about-"

"We're done, thank you," Eames answered. "We'll need to take some of these with us."

Koto nodded; bit her lip, uncertain of how to continue, still hanging tentatively in the doorframe. Finally, she led them back into the studio and toward the exit, and asked the question she seemed to be dreading. "Are you here because you think that someone..." She couldn't finish her sentence.

"Yes," Eames answered frankly as a bat nearly smacked Goren in the nose. "We do think that someone."

"But everyone loved him." The words rang in the detectives' ears as they left the studio, slipping calmly past a vampire as it popped out of a coffin near the exit.

**xXx**

Please review.

Next Time:

"'Power's out,' Rodgers said needlessly. The two nudged their way around various bits of medical equipment that they both could have sworn had never been there in the light and had obviously been placed there for no reason but to make them trip all over themselves."


	6. In the Dark

**Electricity**

**By LMR**

Disclaimer: I cut the power at USA long enough to steal the deed under cover of darkness. Muahahahaha! (I also swiped Mr. Monk's supply of wet naps.)

A.N.: Thank you to all my super reviewers! You guys make my week!

A.N. to the 9th power: Super-Beta was here and will return in time for the next chapter after she goes to save the world, and hopefully to write more of "All About Him." If you are reading this story and have not read "All About Him," you are (a) not paying attention, and (b) seriously missing out. In fact, I suggest you leave this stupid story now and go read that one and its prequel "All About Her." (If you need any more encouragement, be advised that while this universe has only had one lousy kiss on the nose, "All About Him" has already had an M rated love scene. Think about that. You've already left to go read it, haven't you?)

A.N. 5 and a half: You owe guitar73girl for the last thirteen paragraphs of this chapter. These are the best thirteen chapters. Thank her with reviews and more reviews for "A.A.H." Have I mentioned that you should read that?

**Chapter 6: In the Dark**

**xXx**

The Morgue - 1 Police Plaza - Monday, July 2 - 3:22 p.m. **Doink, doink**. (Yeah, that's right: I said Doink, doink!)

"Elizabeth?" Eames called tentatively into a jet black morgue. "Are you here?"

"I'm back here," came the reply. "Power's out," she added needlessly. The two nudged their way around various bits of medical equipment that they both could have sworn had never been there in the light and had obviously been placed there for no reason but to make them trip all over themselves. (Yes, that's _exactly _why. But don't tell them, 'k?)

"But we're fine upstairs. What's wrong?" Eames asked when they finally made it to the corner Rodgers was waiting in. "Why would-"

"Over here," she corrected, causing Eames to nearly trip over the table that presumably housed the body, not to mention a host of sharp medical instruments.

"Well, what's wrong with the lights down here?" she asked, in what she hoped was the right direction.

"I deal in organics," Rodgers pointed out. "I know as much about electricity as a bullfrog knows about gourmet cheese. I sent Desmond to check it out, so hopefully whatever's wrong will be very complicated and take a _long _time to fix." Bobby chuckled. They were of the same mind when it came to her trainee.

There was an uncomfortable pause before Bobby spoke to the dark expanse. "Well you didn't like him, either," he pointed out a bit defensively.

"Huh?" Rodgers uttered, wondering what he was responding to.

"Alex rolled her eyes at me," Bobby explained, trying to keep the poutage to a minimum.

"So it's true what they say about you guys," Elizabeth surmised, a smirk in her voice. "The telepathy, I mean," she quickly clarified.

"We'll never tell," Bobby insisted - their mantra when it came to any one of the many rumors about them. "But how are we supposed to..." He gestured blindly at what he assumed was Buck's body. Or maybe it was the microscope. Or maybe it was a Venusian with an ear growing out of its back and 23 eyes. It didn't matter anyway, because Rodgers couldn't see his gesture any better than he could see the amorphous mass on the slab.

"Doesn't change anything for you. You can _smell _in the dark can't you?" she teased.

A pause. "He's giving you the kicked puppy look," she informed Elizabeth. _The super adorable makes me want to comfort-kiss him, wish I could give him a big hug and goose him, too kicked puppy look_, Alex mentally amended.

"Thank you, Alex," Bobby grumbled.

"Well, what I got before the lights went out is that he was stabbed in the throat with a very small weapon. I got a match for it. It's a craft blade, like an X-acto knife. Sells for a buck fifty; everybody's got one." She carefully maneuvered to another slab. "We exhumed Kent's body. Hard to tell anything anymore. I didn't get a very good look at her, but according to her records, she died of electricity conducted by the chlorinated water. What kind of electricity is nearly impossible to tell, especially now, but theoretically, it could have been natural or technological.

"Wish I could be more helpful, Detectives."

"So do I," Eames intoned, shaking her invisible head.

"Um, Rodgers?" Bobby asked tentatively. "How do we get out of here?"

"Carefully," Elizabeth informed them helpfully.

"What size are your feet again?" Alex wondered out loud. _As if I could ever forget. Wonder if it's true... _

Bobby was surprised to hear the words tumble out of his mouth: "Bite me, Alex." _Where did that come from? Freudian slip, I suppose._

Alex had her own ideas. _Hmm, but where, Bobby Dear?_ She could think of a few places.

They managed somehow to trip their way out of the morgue, bumping into only one slab (complete with body), one tray of instruments (complete with spring loaded bone hackers), one wall (complete with bricks), and one useless electric cord that made Bobby tumble right into Alex and knock them both to the floor, facing each other.

_Oh, just what I need: to be on top of Alex. That helps the situation._

_Hmm, Bobby-body_, she thought. "Usually a man starts by asking a woman on a date, Bobby." _Please? _

She could tell even in the blackness that his face had turned the red of a sunburned flamingo with rosecia. "Sorry," he mumbled, standing up, and pulling her up with him.

They were snapped out of their wishful thinking by Rodgers. Thankful did not begin to describe how they felt about the fact that she couldn't see them. "Difficulties over there?"

"No!" they both answered, a little too quickly.

"Sure..." Rodgers intoned, wondering in her pretty red (yes _red_) head when the two brightest detectives of the Major Case Squad would figure out what everyone else already knew.

Talk about being in the dark.

**xXx**

Happy Thanksgiving!

Next week:

"But swimming meant swimsuits... He could feel his pulse rate rise, his jaw slacken, his face redden, and could almost swear he felt his pupils dilate as he took her in. _OhGodhelpmesheshot." _

Suggestions on precisely what I could do with them in swimsuits would be welcome and appreciated. Keep in mind, though, that it is a K+ rated story. ;p


	7. Synchronized

**Electricity**

**By LMR**

Disclaimer: If I owned the show (which I don't), don'tcha think I would have managed to get them into swimsuits already? I wanna watch them _squirm_.

A.N.: I want to thank my Beta Claire/guitar73girl for fixing all the mistakes and telling me to _write out what the characters are thinking already! _I mean, you have the nifty little italic thought processes going on, tell us what's going on inside those gorgeous heads! You never tell us enough of what- Okay, so Claire's _way _too nice to ever say it that way, but that's the general idea. If it's in italics, you can probably thank her for it.

A.N. 2: Thanks for the reviews, guys. I really want to thank all of you for giving me suggestions on what to do with these guys in swimsuits! I got some great ideas... 99 of which I could not use in a K + rated fic. I sure did enjoy reading them, though. I think some of you need to get your minds out of the gutter. Mine already has all the prime real estate anyway. I tried, oh how hard I tried, to find an excuse to get out the sunscreen. I racked my brain trying to find a good way for it to come up. But like so many great ideas... sigh

**Chapter 7: Synchronized**

**xXx**

Nopienit Pool - 11th and Kickapoo Streets - Monday, July 2 - 6:49 p.m. **Doink, doink**.

Goren had insisted that they do the thing right. A dip in the pool might be necessary to annoy the owner into giving them information.

Fun, too.

But swimming meant swimsuits. Goren was in the process of stashing his clothes in the locker when Eames, doing the same across the locker room, decided to share her thoughts on the assignment. "Married couple, thinking about joining, find something we could get him in trouble for?" she asked.

Without thinking, Bobby's head turned toward her voice. Fortunately, she was looking the other way, because he knew his attraction had to show. He could feel his pulse rate rise, his jaw slacken, his face redden, and could almost swear he could _feel _his pupils dilate as he took her in. _OhGodhelpmesheshot. _Bobby rocked on the balls of his feet nervously, trying not to notice that his partner was half-naked, and extremely built. Her silver one piece left little to the imagination, high cut, showing every inch of her thighs and more cleavage than he really needed to see. He turned away from her, making a pretense of bending for his towel. But a thought occurred to him that made him momentarily forget this particular brand of anguish and encounter a whole new brand.

_She's seeing _me _half-naked! _

Bobby didn't know whether to be terrified or happy about this. He knew, objectively speaking, that he was attractive. His girlfriends always thought so, and he had what would be considered the standard, properly proportioned, visually ideal body shape. He was symmetrical, anyway. But that didn't make him feel any more secure in this situation.

_Because she's looking at me and I'm half-naked._

"Sounds good," he replied, catching the cheap band they used for their undercover assignments. Eames always kept them handy for their favorite game.

Alex felt a hitch in her breath as she turned toward him. She realized, somewhat sheepishly, that the first thought to cross her mind was that he should really stop wearing those all encompassing suits. _In fact, _she figured, _he should consider ditching clothes altogether._ She shook her head as if trying to clear the thought from her mind. _ Stop it, Alex! _But those shoulders. Those arms. That back. And _Oh, _God _the front is even better. _ She scolded herself. _This is supposed to be my husband! A man I see every day in various states of dress and undress, and I shouldn't be going googie over him like some high schooler! _ She groaned, knowing she would just have to hide her attraction long enough to get through the assignment.

Too bad it wasn't cold out there. She could use it as an excuse.

Throwing her towel over her shoulder, Eames gestured for him to lead, finally vocalizing their shared discomfort. "Now is not a time for 'ladies first,' Goren."

"Oh, 'course." Bobby protested his innocence with his hands, clearly saying that he had only the purest intentions.

_Purest intentions, my ass. _Alex nearly laughed when she became aware of her unintentional joke, but managed to stifle it just in time. Laughing when he'd just started walking away from her in his trunks might be seen as a little insensitive.

And those trunks contained nothing to laugh about, as a matter of fact. His sensibilities as a gentleman had apparently overruled the knowledge that he'd just made himself eye candy. _If a woman does it,_ she told herself _it's not sexual harassment. It's leveling the playing field._

They turned to cling to each other after both attempting a believable show of unwillingness and hesitation. Bobby could feel the curve of Alex's hip on his leg and wondered how long they could drag this assignment out. Alex was wondering how any body could feel so comfortable and warm.

They glanced around the pool area for the most likely person to be the owner. They found a likely contestant (as he was the only one dressed) rattling on to a nearby lifeguard. "So you see, it really is a worthy cause. Just because a word hasn't been in circulation doesn't mean that it isn't worthwhile. Word usage is very important, and when you consi-"

"Excuse me? Are you the owner?" She got a nod. "Hi. I'm Alex." She shook his hand immediately put it back around Bobby's waist.

Above the trunks. On his bare skin. _Just being believable. And having a good time, too._

"This is my husband, Bobby." He shook the man's hand, not taking his left arm from around Alex's hip. "Honey, you can go look around if you want," she hinted, annoyed that she wouldn't get to hang on to him for too much longer.

But Bobby had gotten comfortable. "I will in a minute," he responded, causing her to work at retaining a sigh of exasperation. Then again, she could think of worse places for his hands to be.

She could also think of better ones.

_He's pressed up against me, _she thought breathlessly_. Did he just run his hand down my hip? And back up? He's copping a feel! Granted in rather G rated places, but still..._ She returned the favor, kneading the sensitive skin on his side lightly, enjoying the feel of him under her hand. But to her dismay, Bobby immediately removed his hand from her waist as if he'd recieved a shock. He thought he'd been scolded rather than groped, she realized. As his back retreated from her, she lightly brushed her fingers over it, trying to give him an "it's okay." But he was poolside so quickly she doubted he'd noticed the gesture.

"Well Bobby and I..." She turned to gesture to Bobby, who was already lowering himself in.

"He's not a people person," Eames said simply when the man gave her a questioning look. "We're thinking about joining. Are you the one we talk to?"

He nodded, then turned back to Goren. "You'll want to watch the curglaff," he pointed out smugly.

Goren grinned at him. "That's okay, the water's not cold enough to be a shock," he said. Alex beamed. "Nice word usage, though. Obsolete, but nice."

The man turned back to Eames, clearly miffed. "Hoover Matthews, I'm the owner, nice to meet you." He shook. "I'd be happy to talk about our membership rates."

_Keep him talking till Bobby finds something wrong_. Eames put on her overly curious expression and put a hand on her hip. "Now, why would you be here all day, around this beautiful pool and be decked out in your land clothes?" She lightly lifted the collar of his polo shirt. "You know, if I worked here, you'd have to drag me out of the pool."

Hoover looked at the ground and was obviously not pleased with the question. "Well, actually, I, uh..." He whispered the rest of the sentence. "I'm afraid of water," he admitted sheepishly.

"Um. Oh. Um." She couldn't wait to tell Bobby. But what was an appropriate response to this ridiculous statement? _I'm sorry? That's odd? What the heck are you doing here? _

Fortunately no response was needed. "Oh, Honey, look at this." Goren called from the water. "Honey" stood near the edge of the pool to see what he was looking at. "This valve here, it's kinda, well, it's loose. No, no I'd call that broken."

"I don't know much about pools," Eames told the owner. "But I would think it would be dangerous to have broken equipment in there."

"There's someone coming next week," Hoover was quick to inform them. "It's really not a big deal, it can't hurt anything."

"Actually, this is the filter valve," Goren pointed out. "If it's broken, contaminates aren't leaving the pool, which means the pool is..."

"A petrie dish?" Eames offered.

Goren jumped at the suggestion. "Exactly."

"Sounds like a health code violation." She moved her towel aside showing the badge she was holding under it. "I'm sure he could tell you which one, but I'm guessing you don't care."

"Don't you have more impo-"

"We want to know about Iskra Kent," Eames said. Goren, still standing in the pool, listened intently. "She had an accident here," she reminded Hoover.

"Yes, I remember. She was swimming during a thunderstorm; I don't know what more there is to investigate. The lifeguard on duty yelled at her to get out, and she was on her way down from her tower, but she was too late."

"That would be Maya Hixon, right?" Goren asked. "We'll need to talk to her."

Matthews suddenly looked dubious. "Why are you looking into this again?"

Eames looked the man over skeptically; decided it was in their best interest to tell the truth. "We think her death might not have been an accident."

A shadow crossed Hoover's face. Finally he sighed. "I lied about Maya. I did it to protect the reputation of the pool. And myself," he admitted. "Look, I didn't think it was a big deal at the time. It wasn't a full practice, only two or three teammates coming by. They're experienced swimmers, I didn't think there was a reason to call up a lifeguard for overtime." He blew out a breath he'd been holding. "No one with pool management was here that night."

"So you don't know if anyone saw Iskra's death?" Alex asked.

"I'm guessing one of her teammates would have seen it, but I don't know." He paused, looking at the ground. "Look, Maya's just a kid. Please don't give her grief about it. It was my fault. I take full responsibility for lying about this."

"Thank you," Goren said with sincerity. "Do... do you have an earth leakage breaker?" he wondered, looking up and down the pool as if he expected it to be floating by.

Hoover winced. More hot water, so to speak. "No. I know I'm suppos-"

Eames cut him off, not particularly interested in his excuses. "We know: They're coming next week and the check is in the mail."

"So the electronics, like that radio over there." He pointed to the small replacement for the hulking thing that had been used as a murder weapon. "That's operated through a main, right?" He gestured to a stereo that was newer than the one in the picture.

"Uh, yeah. We had a bigger one, but it quit-" he started, not quite understanding. Comprehension dawned. "You think someone used..."

"We'll be in touch," Eames reminded him, walking away, trying not to notice Bobby's impressive strength as he hefted himself out of the pool; to stop wondering what else he could do with those muscles. "And get that thing fixed," she said, pointing toward the valve and trying desperately to shake the charge her partner was giving her.

**xXx**

FYI: _The Cell _+ Special features + Deleted Scenes + Extended Carl With Victim good view of VDO's bum (sans skivvies). Thought you ladies should know, if you can stomach the scene, anyway. And don't forget to review!

Questions to be answered next time:

What happened to the memo? (Yes, you're actually going to find out.)

Who are our suspects?

Who cares who our suspects are? You care about...

How much feeling up can LMR squeeze into one chapter? (As much as possible)


	8. The Sleepover and yes it's still rated

**Electricity**

**By LMR**

Disclaimer: Dear Mr. Wolf: We know that LMR doesn't really own CI, but she's promised us a 238. If you think we're going to pass on _that_, you're crazier than she is. Bye Dick! Love, B & A

A.N.: Extra-super-hyper thanks to guitar73girl/Claire for the wonderful Beta job. I wrote her a memo. But where did it get to?

A.N. 2: Thanks reviewers, and I see I fooled no one. Of _course _he didn't!

**Chapter 8: The Sleepover (and yes, it's still rated K+)**

**xXx**

Robert Goren's Apartment - Monday, July 2 - 9:38 p.m. **Doink, doink**.

Oh, oops. I'm not supposed to do that whole doink, doink bit if they're at 1PP or somebody's apartment, am I? Oh, dear. Oh, I'm so embarrassed. Um... pretend I didn't do the doink, doink, okay? And please don't tell anyone.

xXx

"We can call out for pizza later if you want," Goren offered, throwing his mail down on the already messy front table.

"I just wanna finish this stupid case." Eames gestured wearily to the sofa. "Let's get cracking."

"Oh... ah... well, you go ahead and sit. There's something I have to, um, take care of." She nodded vaguely as he disappeared into the bedroom, figuring she'd really rather not know what evidence he was tampering with. Probably some bimbo's bra.

But sitting on the side of his bed, Bobby picked up the picture frame and smiled. The tiny decoration with a little rose growing up the side contained a message, a memo, actually, that gave him a sense of serenity, of belonging, every time he looked at it. _Eames __really__ cares._

He opened the drawer to slip the memento inside. Her having written that note was one thing. Her finding it framed on his bedside table was another altogether. He traced the flower he loathed, snaking up the side of the frame. A yellow rose. That was what 'Don't forget' referred to now. She might really care, but she could never love him - not the way he loved her.

_Don't forget that she's my partner. My friend. A no more, no way, no how, that's the long and short of it, don't even think about it, close but no cigar friend. _

_And that's the way it has to stay, _he thought miserably as he set the frame back down and left the room.

"What did you find on Iskra?" Goren asked, back in the living room, sitting on the sofa near Eames. He pushed down his automatic desire to share what he knew about the origins of the unusual name. Also the desire to pull her into his arms. He shook the thought.

"She worked at Hair She Blows, good friends with our pal Cathy." Alex smirked and ran a hand through Bobby's poor, wayward hair. He grunted with displeasure. "She was engaged to a Drake Simmons, and of course, her hobby was synchronized swimming. I didn't even bother asking why."

Goren smiled, reaching for another file. "Well, like you said, where there's love... we'll have to look closely at the fiancée."

Eames yawned. "I'm beat, Bobby. I give it twenty minutes and I'm out like a cheap light bulb. I need that time for driving, not case solving."

"Comfy sofa," Bobby offered, patting the cushion next to him.

Alex looked at him skeptically. "Are you trying to be hospitable or do you just want me to handle the paperwork for twenty more minutes?"

"Both," Bobby answered without hesitation. "But mostly, I just want your brilliant insights and of course, the pleasure of your company."

Alex squinted at him hazily. "I'm too sleepy for my sarcasm detector to be fully functional."

"Never thought I'd see the day when _you _wouldn't be able to spot sarcasm." He lowered his voice to a sensual whisper that made Alex shiver. "I am completely serious on both counts." Bobby stroked her hand casually enough to be perceived as a friendly gesture, but intimate enough to give them both a pleasurable jolt. She gazed at the side of his face for a moment, trying to get a clue about his motive.

"I gotta use the little girls' room," she said, if for no other reason to shake the charge his innocent touch had given her.

He nodded. "Right through there," he indicated the bedroom to their left.

"'K, right back." _ My turn. _She used his leg to lift herself up off the sofa, giving a little squeeze and, as she stood, sliding her hand up further up his thigh. Just a little. Perfectly innocent.

_Did she just grope me?_ he wondered, shocked. A thrill ran through him at the thought.

After washing, Alex took her time passing through the bedroom. Everything was done in mellow browns and blues. Clean lines, soft colors. Masculine but gentle, just like Bobby. She traced her fingers over the bed, noting with both a hint of hope and a huff of jealousy, that the mattress was obviously built to hold two.

She stopped herself short of sniffing the pillow.

That might be crossing a line.

He'd left the drawer on the little bedside table open, and out of habit, she reached to push it shut. She stopped short when she saw what was sitting on his bedside table. Her note. In a frame. She sat on the edge of the bed, picked it up and kicked herself for ever believing that he would have thrown it out. _My sweet, sentimental Bobby, not only kept it but put it in a nice frame and set it where he would see it every night. _

Another implication of the placement occurred to her: _The last thing he thinks about before he goes to bed is me._ She felt a surge of pleasure at the thought

The note, she knew, didn't come close to the emotion she'd wanted to express: something more along the lines of, "You deserve every beautiful, precious, and special thing in the world and if I could be blessed enough to be part of that I'd just thank my lucky stars.

"...Oh, and by the way, I'm madly in love with you." Yeah, _that _would have gone over well. It would have given the poor guy heart failure.

And it wouldn't have fit around the damn caterpillar anyway.

She lovingly traced the tendril that wove its way up the side of the frame, caressing it with her thumb, smiling that he would keep her memento in such an intimate place and in this beautiful, personal frame, one with a rose, even. Her smile faded, coming to a full understanding of the meaning of the flower. A yellow rose. _Friendship_. Yeah, great. That was all he wanted from her, and she felt stupid for thinking even for a moment that he could crave more. All his touching really was innocent and friendly. And if she ever let on to how she felt, it would disgust him. Then she would lose both her partner and the best friend she'd ever had.

She shook the thought and composed herself enough to get back to the living room, remembering to act just as she would have if she hadn't seen the note, rather than going with her first impulse: something along the lines of wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing the top of his head, thanking him for keeping her so close to his heart, even as a friend. _Hm, that won't do, methinks._

"All set," Eames said upon re-entering the living room. "It occurred to me: Suppose Justin could have been blackmailing the killer, just keeping our number on hand? We'll need to look at his bank accounts; find out if there's been a recent deposit."

"Distinct possibility. But we can't forget: Technically, we don't know Iskra's murder had anything to do with Justin's," Goren countered.

Eames sighed. "Good point. Who knows who this guy ticked off? What about the will?" She reached for the folder behind Bobby on the sofa. Using his bicep as leverage for her stretch, she brushed her other arm across his lower back before retrieving the file. Okay, so maybe he wasn't attracted to her, but damned if she wasn't going to feel him up at every opportunity anyway.

"Okay, Iskra didn't have any family," Eames started. "According to her will, her estate was divided equally between her 'dear friend, co-worker, and heorðgeneat, Cathy.' What's a...?"

"Friend," Goren explained. "Old English."

"Ah, this explains it. And the other half goes to her favorite charity," Eames continued. "Words Abandoned and Denounced from Dialects of the Language of English. Huh."

"Hoover," Goren said out of nowhere.

"I know it's a little messy in here, but let's focus on the case," Eames remarked dryly. After getting a chuckle, she continued seriously. "You really think he would kill just to send some money the way of his favorite charity?"

"People have killed for less," Goren pointed out. She nodded agreement.

"None to her fiancée. Must have not gotten around to changing it," Eames pointed out. "But did he know that?"

"So our suspects:

"We have Drake, the fiancée who probably expected her money to go to him. Cathy, the friend who inherited half her estate. Hoover, whose pet charity inherited the other half. And if we consider that the murders might be unrelated, we have Koto, who was possibly fighting off unwanted advances from Justin. (Got that list, everybody? You better - it's important. Okay, moving on.)

"Where does the fiancée work?"

Eames opened the file and groaned. "You have got to be kidding me. I thought that job only existed in bad fiction."

"What?"

"You are never going to believe this..."

**xXx**

So everybody knew he wouldn't throw it out, but Z.E. Grockle, The Confused One, and Scripted Starlet all guessed _exactly _what happened to the memo, right down to what table it was on in Z's case. You've definitely earned bragging rights. Milk it for all it's worth.

xXx

Questions to be answered next time:

What's Drake's job?

Could these people be any less clueless about each other's feelings?

Who is the killer? (No, you're not going to find out next time, it just seemed like a good thing to ask.)


	9. A Brief Interlude

**Electricity**

**By LMR**

Disclaimer: I didn't steal CI. The butler did it.

A.N.: A big 'shippy thank you to Claire/guitar73girl, who Betas this silly thing, a job only slightly less ridiculous than Drake's.

A.N. 2: Thanks for the lovely reviews! They give me the warm fuzzies!

**Chapter 9: A Brief Interlude**

**xXx**

"He's an underwearinspector," Eames told him with an undertone of disbelief.

Goren drew upon all the eloquence he could muster to respond to this information. "Hm," he said.

"Our prime suspect works for the only company in the world that doesn't practice the great American pastime of outsourcing, and is therefore stuck with the most asinine job on the planet." She looked at her partner mournfully.

"How do we end up with these cases, Bobby?"

xXx

The Tighty Whities Done Righty Underwear Inspection facility - Tuesday, July 3 - 9:37 a.m. **Doink, doink.**

"Drake Simmons?" Eames asked. She got a nod. "We're very sorry to have to do this, sir, but we need to ask you some questions about what happened to your late fiancée."

He looked the two over and nodded vaguely. "Where were you when Iskra had her accident?" Eames wondered.

"Eating supper. They called my cell, the cops did, I mean. It was about seven. Of course, my day just went to h- to pot, I mean," he corrected, glancing at Eames. "I mean my _day _went to pot. I didn't smo- Well, anyway, it was the last happy meal I had for a while." He rushed to clarify. "I mean the last meal I ate during which I felt contented. I wasn't eating a Happy Mea- well, you get the point."

Eames nodded by way of assurance that she would never accuse him of trying to get a toy of the week with his cheeseburger. _Murder, maybe_. _ But not toys._

Drake was standing, somewhat perplexed over a crate labeled "Uninspected." It seemed he was debating whether or not he should pick it up. He fingered the brace on his back as if testing its mettle by touch. "Hey, Billy!" he called to a nearby worker. "Could you get this crate for me?"

"I got it," Goren offered, easily lifting the crate and setting it down next to the conveyer belt.

"Thanks. Football injury from high school," he explained impressively. "What were we talking about?"

"When was the last time you talked to Miss Kent?" Eames wondered, keeping one eye on her partner.

Bobby, at least, was keeping himself amused. He spread a particularly frilly pair of underwear in his hands and held it up to the light as though checking for holes in the seams. From Alex's angle, it looked like he was just about to put them on his head. She had to make an effort not to laugh.

"Put those down!" Drake snapped, snatching them out of his hands.

"He sees something he likes..." Eames said, by way of explanation. "When was the last time you talked to Iskra?" She reiterated.

"The day before the accident," he told the two. He told Eames, anyway. Bobby was carefully examining a slight pair with Tweetie Bird on the front.

"Did she seem worried, upset about anything?" she wondered.

"Why all the questions, anyway? I don't see why you're interested." 

"We're sorry to tell you this, Mr. Simmons, but we think Iskra's death might not have been caused by lightning." They paused a moment to let the information sink in and to study him for a response.

They got look of pure bewilderment for their trouble. "But she was killed by a storm. She was swimming. The lightning. They saw it. Didn't they?"

"No one saw what happened. We have reason to believe she was murdered." Eames examined his face carefully for clues.

"What? I mean, why would? It makes no... Why do you think..." he uttered in staccato, panties forgotten.

"I'm sorry, we can't tell you what we've found. You understand," Eames said brusquely.

But it was clear Drake didn't understand at all. "Murdered?"

"Do you know anyone who might have wanted to hurt Iskra?" she asked, absently taking a pair of leopord prints out of Bobby's hands and putting them back on the belt; throwing him a look that clearly said he was going overboard. Bobby looked at Alex. Looked at the pair she'd taken out of his hand; regarded her quizzically, as if trying to figure something out. He shook his head. _Better not to think about that._

"Why would anyone do this to her?" Drake asked to no one in particular. Reeling, he sat on the huge crate Goren had moved for him.

"We were hoping you could tell us. The last time you saw her - did she seem on edge or nervous?" Eames followed up.

"She seemed... withdrawn. I remember I tried to talk to her, but she kind of brushed me off. I remember wondering about that. Worrying about it." He looked at them, guarded. "I thought maybe I had done something wrong, I felt guilty about that for quite a while. But I couldn't think of anything. Came to figure maybe she was just having a bad day."

Goren passed Eames a look. She could tell he was thinking the same thing by the way he raised his eyebrows and frowned just slightly; shifted his portfolio from one hand to the other. _He's not telling us everything._

"One more thing, Mr. Simmons: Was anyone with you during that time?" Goren wondered.

He hesitated. "Yeah, I went with a friend to a joint down the street. _Hamburger _joint, I mean," he added quickly. "I wasn't... you know, I was _at _a joint, you know."

Eames nodded. _Again, Mr. Simmons, we'll only accuse you of murder. _"How did you pay?"

"Cash," he answered immediately. "I always carry enough cash for supper the whole week."

"We'll be in touch," Goren said, allowing himself to sound slightly ominous. "And we'll need to take a statement about your friend and get his or her number."

xXx

As they headed back to the SUV, Goren summarized their inferences. "I got the impression he knew exactly why Iskra was being cold to him. He was acting guilty, shifty about it, like he knew he'd done something wrong." He started shaking his finger, and Eames knew he was trying to remember something. He gestured for them to stop a moment while he fished around in his portfolio. "Here..."

Alex tried to keep a decent space between them as she looked at the photo around his shoulder.It was the team, relaxed with a man in their midst, not in a suit. She could see now that the man was, in fact, Drake, wearing his work clothes. His arms were draped around a contented Iskra, and to his left, a woman poised rigidly several inches away, looking at him out of the corners of her eye. "Deliberate distance," she pointed out. "She's trying too hard not to touch him." They turned the formal photo over to get a name for the mystery woman. Audra Nicholson.

She looked at her partner, backing away a little, trying not to touch him too much. "I think Mr. Happy Meal was having an affair."

**xXx**

Review if you know what's good for you! Muahahahaha!

Questions to be answered next time:

Was Mr. Happy Meal having an affair?

Did his mistress have a motive for murder?

Will LMR quit pretending that anyone is paying attention to the mystery?

Will Bobby ever find out how Alex would look in that underwear he was eyeing? (Not in a K+ rated story)

Is LMR an evil tease for putting that image in your head?


	10. The Perfect One

**Electricity**

**By LMR**

Disclaimer: Doink, doink! In New York City's war on crime, the worst criminal offenders are pursued by the detectives of the major case squad. But when they're not pursuing the worst criminal offenders, some idiot fanfic writer is putting them into a lousy Mystery/Humor/Romance story. The detectives of the major case squad hate this. They want you to read this stupid thing as quickly as possible so they can get back to more bearable and pleasant things, like murder. Doink, doink!

A.N.: Betas (like Claire/guitar73girl) are the highest form of life on the planet.

A.N. 2: Reviewers are the second highest form of life on this planet.

A.N. 3: I am the highest form of life on my home planet.

**Chapter 10: The Perfect One**

**xXx**

Home of Audra Nicholson - Tuesday, July 3 - 10:20 a.m. **Doink, doink**.

They knocked insistently until the door to Audra Nicholson's home until it opened to reveal the beautiful woman they'd seen with Drake in the photograph of the team.

They edged their way into her posh apartment. The whole place was done up in black with pink trim in an art deco style, the doorway made to look like a grand, rounded arch with smaller arches falling around the sides of it. The carpet was deep and rich, and Eames couldn't quite suppress the thought that it might be fun to take off her shoes and socks and enjoy it properly. Back on task, she and her partner showed their Audra their badges. "NYPD. Detectives Goren and Eames. Ms. Nicholson, do you have some time to talk to us?"

"I work from home. I suppose I could take a coffee break." She didn't look happy about it.

"Good," Eames said authoritatively. "We need to talk to you about Iskra Kent."

The surprise was evident on her face. "Um, okay. Why would you, um?"

"We have reason to believe she might have been murdered."

Her lovely dark eyes widened. "Murdered? I don't know why anyone would want to do that."

"Did you know her well?" Goren wondered.

"No. Not really. We saw each other at practice, that's about all." Audra was squirming so subtly that most people wouldn't have noticed.

Goren and Eames were not most people.

"Then what makes you think no one would want to kill her?" Eames wondered, hoping to sound just suspicious enough to throw Audra off her game.

"Well, I guess I-"

"We can't be certain of a motive yet," Eames cut her off. "But it seems her fiancée was having an affair." She stared Audra down, daring her to deny it. _'Fess up, Slimebag._

Her smooth façade broke just for a moment. "How did you know?"

"It's our job to know," Eames informed her. "Did Iskra know about the affair?"

"I don't think so." She shrugged. "If she did, she never let on."

Goren entered the conversation. "Drake told us she'd been standoffish the last time they saw each other. Do you think that could have had something to do with the cheating?"

"If she had found out, it's news to me. I didn't see her the day she died, though, so if she'd just then heard about it I wouldn't have known. I don't how she could have, though. We hid it pretty well." Her tone changed as if something had just occurred to her. "You don't think that _Drake_…"

"The fiancée is the most obvious suspect, yes," Eames said casually.

"But he did love her," she said grudgingly. "He always made that clear to me. He couldn't have done this: It's just not who he is."

"You'll understand if we don't just take your word for it," Eames said, her voice dry. Audra nodded mildly. "Where were you on the night Miss Kent was killed?"

"I was eating dinner with Drake. We knew she was going for an extra practice, so I figured I could use that time to be with him. Practices don't get out till sunset; even the extra practices Iskra and Jim liked to go to."

"Iskra and Jim usually put in extra hours?" Eames inquired. _Don't tell me there's another affair going on here_, she mentally pleaded.

"Well, they were the only ones who always went to the extras; they were the ones who arranged them. Usually a couple others would show up, but it was anybody's guess who. I rarely did, since Iskra was there, which gave me a chance to be alone with Drake."

Goren frowned. He'd been trying to read Audra, and now he joined the conversation. "Were you and Drake alone that night? I mean, were there other diners there?"

She shrugged. "A couple, I guess. It's kind of a greasy spoon, really. I don't know why Drake likes it so much. I only put up with it because of him."

"The sacrifices we make for love," Eames said dryly on their way back to the SUV. Bobby smiled.

xXx

Back at one PP, Deakins asked them about their progress.

Eames ran down the list of suspects they had composed earlier. "And we have one more suspect," she grumbled. "Kent's fiancée was having an affair with another eggbeater. It could have been the mistress who killed them. She probably would have expected Kent's money to go to her fiancée, and with Iskra out of the way, she might have thought they could live happily ever after. Her only alibi is the fiancée, so we really can't trust it too well."

"Well," Deakins said, looking for anything good about the situation. "I'm glad you're the ones working on it."

Profoundly flattered, the detectives allowed a smile of thanks before Eames broke the moment with, "We're not."

Jimmy smiled in acknowledgement of their appreciation and headed back to his office.

Goren groaned. Another long day. "I'll get the coffee."

As soon as he was out of her line of sight, Alex took out the package that had been sitting, relatively hidden, under her desk. She set the gift bag carefully in the bottom drawer of her desk, where it would be better shielded from someone who might (hopefully) be leaning over her shoulder a few times throughout the day. She would give it to Bobby in the last chapter. Alex had been in the store when she had become aware, to her own surprise, that she'd started scanning the rows of small picture frames, and she realized what she was doing.

She was shopping for a replacement. Something more appropriate than a friendship flower, something that really captured how she felt about him; how she felt being near him. She'd smiled, pulling a small frame from the seasonal display. She'd found the perfect one

Fortunately, Bobby didn't get back from the break room until the gift was safely out of sight.

**xXx**

Review or I'll never give you an interrogation scene. Aw, who cares, anyway? Review or I'll never tell you what kind of frame is in the gift package!


	11. The Annoyingly Short but Very Important

**Electricity**

**By LMR**

Disclaimer: I don't yet know who stole CI. Between you and me, I don't trust Miss Scarlet.

A.N.: **(Not an actual quote):** Good chapter. _Now what the heck was Bobby thinking!?_ Thanks for all your fantastic advice, guitar73girl.

A.N. 2: Glow in the dark cats: cool. Reviewers: cooler. Glow in the dark reviewers: scary.

A.N. 3: **http://forums. 'shippers, vote! We need your votes (we're losing at the moment :( )**

**Chapter 11: The Annoyingly Short (but very important) Chapter**

**xXx**

Under the glaring florescent lights, the detectives sat at their desks tackling their initial stack of paperwork, and occasionally stealing glances at each other when each was sure the other wasn't looking.

_Paperwork, Alex, not gorgeous partner! _she reminded herself.

"_Radioactive Zombies from Hell_," Goren suddenly blurted.

Eames set down the pen she'd been using with delicacy, as if preparing for a demanding task. "You know, usually I can take your non-sequiturs in stride," she said. "But that's a little much even for me."

"We couldn't see Justin's body in the blackout."

Eames made an "I get it_" _sort of nod and finished the thought. "That nice healthy radioactive glow. Won't wash off for a week. The phosphorescent make-up would have shown up if Koto had touched him."

"And Ninth and Kickapoo," he continued, as if this were a natural follow-up. "But Nopienit's on Eleventh and Kickapoo."

"You just like saying Kickapoo," Eames observed.

"Yes, but the point is that Cathy got the address wrong," Goren reminded her.

"If I'd gone someplace to commit a murder, I'd probably remember the address," she concurred. Goren nodded.

Eames furrowed her brow and snapped her fingers. "How heavy would you say that stereo was?"

Bobby had to ponder this one for a moment. First of all, Alex was wearing a sleeveless shirt, which he always found somewhat distracting. _Her arms are just so- No, Goren, don't get off topic! _ Finally he shrugged. "Fancy stereo, good twenty pounds."

Alex had needed to look at the picture a few times, seeing as her initial look had been overshadowed by her newly discovered first name. She collected her thoughts. "You'd have to pick that thing up with two hands and really heft it into the pool, then drag it out." she pointed out.

"Drake couldn't have done it with that old injury," Goren agreed. "What about Matthews?"

Eames gestured with her hands, an excited look on her face. "Whoever threw that stereo in would have had to unplug it, then go into the water to push it back out again."

"Hoover's phobia," Goren surmised. "He never would have gone into the deep end to push it back out after throwing it in."

"It's got to be Audra," Eames stated confidently.

"She's the only suspect who could have done it," Goren agreed, a note of triumph in his voice.

Eames sighed. "We're not playing Clue™, Bobby. Carver isn't going to be satisfied with the process of elimination."

"Miss Scarlet did it in the kitchen with the knife," he said randomly.

_Good grief, I'm rubbing off on him._ "It was the wrench," Alex corrected for no particular reason. Bobby raised an eyebrow, using her comment as an excuse to look at her perhaps a moment longer than he should have.

**xXx**

Questions to be answered next time:

Will LMR be murdered for posting such a ridiculously short chapter?

How does Alex know it was the wrench? Does she know more than she's letting on?

Will Carver be satisfied with the process of elimination?

Will LMR tell us what's in the stupid package, already? (No.)


	12. Hope

**Electricity**

**By LMR**

Disclaimer: I can't possibly own CI or I would know how all this detective and lawyer stuff works. Obviously, I'm clueless so it follows that it's not mine.

A.N.: Claire has just been sorted into Gryffindor. I already knew she was mighty brave to be wading through this stuff. (But Hufflepuff is still the best :p)

A.N. 2: Thank you, all you lovely reviewer-people!

**Chapter 12: Hope**

**xXx**

Office of A.D.A. Carver - Tuesday, July 3 - 11:47 a.m. **Doink, doink**.

"Where have you been?" Eames wondered.

Carver furrowed his brow. "I went out for lunch. Why?"

She shrugged. "No reason." She folded her arms. "Look, we know it's Audra. Every other suspect is eliminated by one thing or another. She's the only one who possibly could have done it." She explained their reasoning. The fanfiction writer did not want to be redundant, so you just have to go by what Eames and Goren said in the last chapter. If you can't remember, tough noogies for you.

"See?" she concluded. "It can't be any other suspect."

Carver let out a low moan. "First of all, Detectives, I can't go to a judge without probable cause. The elimination of other suspects may put Audra in the limelight, but it's far from conclusive. Secondly, have you forgotten that she has an alibi?"

"A weak one at best," Eames countered. "Drake's her lover. Besides, it gives him an alibi, too. He has every reason to lie about it."

"Can we at least bring them in for questioning as persons of interest?" Goren asked, trying to hide his exasperation.

Of course they could have, but like I said, I don't know that. For all I know, they couldn't be brought before a judge without the official blessing of the Tootaah mystic of Kaulalumpar.

But Carver frowned. "Not good enough, Detectives. Find a way for the two to be considered prime suspects in the murders of Mr. Buck and Miss Kent." _Why don't I like that name, anyway? Huh. _"Find some evidence or we don't have any hope of bringing this to a judge."

On their way to the SUV, Eames smirked. "Guess we'll have to find them guilty."

Goren grinned. _Time to play._

xXx

Home of Drake Simmons Tuesday, July 3 - 1:23 p.m. **Doink, doink**.

The house was in a beautiful old neighborhood, shaded by long-lived trees and built in a lovely colonial style. Eames wondered briefly how he could afford it on an underwear inspector's salary. Did he save well, invest, live beyond his means? Or had he perhaps expected a large sum of money to come his way?

The detectives meandered up to Drake's garage with an attitude of disinterest. This attitude was oozing out of the other random people on the driveway as well. Why anyone would stop for garage sales, Alex could only guess. Patrons always just frowned as if in concentration at the items. But everyone knew full well that the only thing anyone at a garage sale concentrates on is the complete lack of taste of the proprietor. _I guess they provide something in entertainment value_, Alex thought.

"Hey Eames, look who it is."

Eames faked a look of pleasant surprise. "Oh, what a coincidence. We were just thinking about you," she said, pointing a finger at Simmons. "Weren't we, Goren?"

"All good thoughts, promise," Goren assured Drake, putting his hands up in a gesture of honesty. Eames glanced at him and gave a fractional nod. "You know, I love yard sales. I'm just going to look around, if that's okay." He didn't wait for an answer before veering off to look at some tacky, saccharine and downright ugly Christmas ornaments from 1987.

"So, Mr. Simmons. I was just wondering... Oh, don't mind him," she waved off her partner. "He's a sucker for that kind of thing. I was wondering if you had a permit for this garage sale?"

Bobby glanced around at the items on the tables that seemed slightly less cheesy than the majority. Somehow, everything (halfway decent) turned into a possible gift for Alex. A picture of horses. Alex likes horses. More ABBA Gold. Alex likes ABBA. He turned the CD case over to look at the tracks. "Angeleyes." _Huh. That sounds fam- _His train of thought was interrupted when he saw the small picture frame. It was the perfect size. And winding its way up the side was a rose.

It was red.

And only twenty-five cents. _No! Robert Goren, you cannot buy something from a murder suspect at an illegal garage sale! Even if it is perfect. Even if it is exactly how I feel. Even if it would mean the world to me to see it next to her sweet words every night before I go to bed._

_And even if it's only twenty-five cents._

"I don't, uh, well, see, I asked my neighbors," Simmons stuttered. "They don't mind that I'm selling my little doobie-hickeys. No, I mean _doo_hickeys! He corrected quickly.

"Well, the City of New York _does _mind. Now, normally we would just charge you a fine. At least fifty, up to a hundred depending how grouchy the judge is feeling today." She paused for effect. "Thing is, being Major Case, we can usually pull a few strings. My partner," she gestured. "Has the most comprehensive-" _and weird _"list of connections and favors owed that I've ever seen, and I've seen a lot. I think we could convince a judge not to worry about your little flea market if you're a little more cooperative in the Kent/Buck case. I'm assuming, sir, that you want us to find the man or woman who killed your fiancée. Am I wrong about that?" She folded her hands over her chest in an intimidating sort of way.

He swallowed nervously. "What, precisely does this cooperation entail?"

She relaxed her arms again, extending him a reassuringly friendly gesture. "Just come in and talk to us. That's all we need. Give us whatever information you may not have thought of at the factory. Any little detail you can remember."

He looked back at the tables on the driveway and nodded. "Give me half an hour to clean up. I promise I'll show." Eames nodded, then headed to the table where her partner was standing.

"Bobby, he'll be coming in in thirty." She looked down at the table. "Don't tell me any of this stuff actually looks interesting to you?"

"Huh? Oh, no. 'Course not." He set down the object he'd been holding and headed back to the SUV. She caught a look at the thing he'd been looking at and smiled.

It looked like hope.

**xXx**

Questions to be answered next time:

Should Bobby buy the frame? It isonly twenty five cents, after all.

Are Bobby and Alex going to be able to annoy Audra into coming to the interrogation room? (duh.)

Does anyone care who the killer is? (I don't.)

Please review! You know you wanna.


	13. We're Not Annoying You! Are we?

**Electricity**

**By LMR**

Disclaimer: Come up with your own damn disclaimer! One that says LMR doesn't own it! And it had better be funny, darn it!

A.N.: Thank you for the Beta job, Claire! round of applause

A.N. 2: Hooray reviewers!

A.N. 3: My dear Beta actually did come up with her own funny disclaimer:

There's a lovely young lady from America,

Who entices these characters to play with her,

She makes them do tricks,

To flirt and to kiss,

With a touch of modest erotica.

**Chapter 12: We're Not Annoying You. Are We?**

**xXx**

Home of Audra Nicholson - Tuesday, July 3 - 2:49 p.m. **Doink, doink**.

"Hi, Miss Nicholson, thanks for inviting us in." Eames said this even as her partner was halfway through the door. She followed. Well, as far as the _let's annoy the heck out of the suspect _game had come so far, this was one of their finer works. Nicholson was already furious and Eames was yet to have both feet planted on the lush black carpet. _Hmm, I can think of other things I'd like to do on this carpet. Then again, there would be carpet burns..._ That speed had to be a personal record. Cool. "We were just hoping we could ask you a few more questions."

"Hey, is this an original Theodore Whannell?" Goren "carelessly" picked up a black sculpture from the coffee table. Alex could tell he was holding it very gently by the way his fingers tensed at the tips. He wouldn't risk breaking an original Whositswhat for anything, and she'd become accustomed to his talent for feigning clumsiness, not to mention his graceful movements.

She pondered this for a moment. _Hmm, graceful movements._

"Be careful with that!" Audra snapped. It was all Eames could do not to laugh.

"Never mind him, it's just this thing he does. What we were really hoping for, Miss Nicholson, was that you could be of further assistance with the death of Iskra Kent. It won't take long, if you'd just come down to the station wi-"

Goren had abandoned the sculpture in favor of a painting that was hanging, or rather had been hanging, above the mantle before he decided he needed a closer look. "Hey, this is a Leigh Bell, isn't it? Wow!"

"Stop that!" Nicholson yelled, frantic. She lost her cool altogether as she raced across the room to snatch it away from Goren and hang it back on the wall. No mean feat as she was about a foot too short.

Bobby grinned at Alex who held back a laugh and gave him a _nice job _look. While Audra was still busy with the painting, Goren headed toward the bookshelf. "Hey, Eames, look at this. This is a first edition." He licked his finger and reached to the bottom of the page at which point Nicholson, who had dropped the painting to the floor in shock, dived to swipe the book away from him. Good timing, seeing as Goren would rather have dropped an Acme anvil on his foot than taint a first edition with saliva, even if the book was only _The Art of Feng Shui as Applied to Fifteenth Century Toilets_.

"We were just hoping you would come down to the station with us and just answer a few questions. I mean, we really don't want to stand around your apartment all day, but-"

"Hey, Eames! Look at this one!"

"Okay, okay, I'll go! Just let me get my purse. And you: Sit down and stay put."

When she had left the room, Bobby, still standing, gave Alex an inquisitive look.

"Yes, Bobby," she said in a half laugh. "I think we should sit down and stay put."

He did. "Well, the stuff in here really is pretty neat," he said a touch defensively. Alex just smiled and shook her head. She sat next to him and gave his leg a friendly pat, emboldened by the look he'd been giving that picture frame. He smiled; a loving and/or friendly smile covered in ambiguity.

_Well,_ Alex thought ruefully. _Whatever he means by it, it sure is cute._

xXx

Carver raised an eyebrow. "She came in voluntarily," Eames said simply.

"I don't even want to know how you convinced her."

"It wasn't that hard, we just-" she started.

"No, I mean it. I'd really rather not know." Eames shrugged and joined her partner in the interrogation room.

"Don't you have a room with windows, at least?" Audra snarled. She had refused to even speak to Goren.

"Sorry," Eames quipped, sitting. "Conference room is occupied, we had to settle for this." She looked at her, feigning concern. "This is okay with you, isn't it?" Audra nodded, resigned. Goren admired the trick. Getting Nicholson to agree to the arrangements would make her more compliant with their investigation. Okay, so Eames probably didn't know much about cognitive dissonance, but she was clever enough to know exactly how to evoke it.

"Well, what we really want to know is if you're a career homewrecker, or if you reserved that for Drake and Iskra." Eames casually asked a stonily silent Nicholson.

"That is none of your business," she snapped in a low voice.

"The more you tell us, the more innocent you'll look," Eames pointed out. "Besides, if you routinely steal your friends' boyfriends _without _killing them, the less likely we'll find it that you made an exception this time. So really, the more of a tramp you are, the better you look," she concluded flippantly and quite honestly.

Audra glowered, and behind her, Goren nearly grinned. He gave Eames a raised eyebrow and a conceding tilt of the head to propose to shift tactics just slightly. "Even if you're not a killer," he said derisively. "You _are _pathetic. She was your friend. How could you?" He was yelling now, trying to work her into a frenzy.

She didn't take the bait, and responded calmly. "Yes she was, sort of. And it's none of your business."

"Wouldja' look at that?" He said loudly to his partner. "Cold, heartless- What a piece of work. She was your _friend_, and you shacked up with her fiancée. Nice, huh?" Eames agreed, putting a befitting measure of contempt in her expression.

"Yes I did!" she answered emphatically, finally shouting back. "And I don't regret it. Why should I have cared about her? She was pathetic. She didn't deserve him!"

xXx

Questions to be answered:

What stupid disclaimer will LMR come up with next?

Will Drake roll on Audra?

What's in the damn gift bag already?

Please review!


	14. The Un Interrogation

**Electricity **

**By LMR **

Disclaimer: My kitten helped ;vl ,.c,mlcxxxxxxxxxxxx;vl ; me ty9999999pe the discccclaimer that says Dicksdddddd Wolf owns it not l;kasdj me. She'''''''s veary helpfuladio that wayj999-0ij;.

A.N.: Beta: 1 (def) the second letter of the Greek alphabet. Beta: 2 (def) Claire aka coolest BA fan ever!

A.N. 2: Reviewers make my day.

**Chapter 14: The Un-Interrogation **

**xXx **

"Why aren't we in that whatchacallit, conference room?" Simmons had seen the room on the way in, shades closed.

"Because there's a conference," Eames explained, using the tone she might use with Nathan to explain why one plus one doesn't equal three. Bobby supressd a grin.

"Well do we have to be in this pit? I feel like I'm in prison." He twisted his hands under the table; wiped them on his shirt.

"It was the only room available," Eames lied. "But relax, we're not interrogating you. We just want to know exactly where you were the night of the murder and who you were with."

"I was at work until five," he intoned wearily. "I was in my car until five forty-five. I was at the Eat it or Else Diner until I got the call at seven. I was with Audra from six till the call. I got the call and went to the hospital right away. Audra went home then, and I didn't see or talk to her for a few days. I've already told you all that.

"Look, no one's given me any reason at all to believe her death was caused by anything but lightning. You won't tell me anything except that you think it was murder, you have your reasons, and you suspect Audra."

"And you," Eames said somewhat cheerfully, getting a startled and frightened look for her trouble and an undisguised grin from Bobby. "Thing is, we think your alibi really sucks, which makes Audra's equally pathetic."

He tightened his jaw. "The only reason I haven't called a lawyer is because this is about Iskra and I want to help any way I can. I have nothing to hide here, but you seem to be hiding an awful lot from me.

"I want to know what makes you think her death was a murder, and why on earth you would suspect me."

Ooh, he's good and annoyed now! Eames thought gleefully, shooting Goren a communicative look. He pulled the picture of the pool out of his portfolio and slid the evidence baggie toward Drake. He took it and stared.

"Pretty clouds. What's the point?" he asked, disdainfully shoving the photo away.

"Notice anything odd about that stereo, Mr. Simmons?" Eames wondered.

"No, wh-" He picked it up again, squinted at it. "That's water below it. It's wet."

"Nice of you to notice," Eames quipped. "See, you're looking at a murder weapon. What about last week? I don't suppose you were lucky enough to be out of town, because that sure would help us narrow this thing down."

"No, I was here," he said triumphantly, apparently thinking that would make him look better.

She shook her head. "Too bad for you, because _this_," she gestured to the photo Goren had just removed from his portfolio. "Is Justin Buck." She slid the picture to him, getting a look of disgust. "He was a friend of Iskra's, and he was killed last week because he knew what happened to her. That makes you a person of interest in _two _murders."

"I never met this guy."

"You might want to take a closer look, Mr. Simmons," Eames encouraged. "It's a little hard to make out the details of his features with all those maggots in the way."

He looked at her sardonically. "If I puked all over this table, would it convince you that I couldn't commit a murder?"

_Hey_, Bobby thought. _That was good. Almost Alex good._ He made sure not to convey this particular thought to Alex in an expression.

"Well, we know you loved her," Goren pointed out gently to Simmons. "Audra told us that, and if _she's _willing to admit it... Well, it must be true. She wasn't happy about it you know. Not happy at all."

"Don't you want to find out the truth about what happened to her?" Eames prodded.

"Of course I do," he said wearily. "And I'm telling you the truth so you can stop focusing on Audra and find the real killer. She was with me all evening!"

Goren frowned. _We're not getting through to him. _ Eames nodded agreement. "Perjury can get up to five years in the state of New York. Think about that while we're talking to the A.D.A." She rose and walked with her partner out of the room. 

Deakins was frowning at the window. "Nothing's going to make him roll on her. He either believes she's innocent or doesn't care."

"Oh, he believes her," Goren confirmed, passing his portfolio from one hand to the other pensively. "He'd never deny her an alibi. He really thinks he's helping us catch the killer. Good thing we got that confession," he added as he headed back to the double desks.

Eames regarded him in puzzlement for just a moment before a small smile graced her lips and she followed him out. "Good thing."

Carver and Deakins looked at each other, each one hoping the other was feeling just as lost. Finally, Jimmy just shook his head and laughed. "It's so much easier with Mike and Carolyn. If they want to talk to each other, they have to resort to primitive verbal communication."

**xXx **

Questions to be answered:

What confession are these wackos talking about?

Was Drake faking that high school injury? Maybe he's the killer! (Nah, I just feel like messing with your heads.)

Are Bobby and Alex going to just confess their love already?

Tell us what's in the damn gift bag right now, you lousy little tease!


	15. Confessions unfortunately not the con

**Electricity**

**By LMR**

Disclaimer: The One-Eyed, One-Horned Flying Purple People Eater stole CI and then dropped it on my head. I decided to keep it.

A.N.: Happiness is a kitten (check), raspberry hot cocoa (check), a new chapter of "All About Him" (check!), and Best Beta In The World, aka guitar73girl (check!). Extra thanks this week for pointing out some serious "duh" moments. If there are any bonehead mistakes in this chappie, it's almost certainly in the parts I fixed up _after _she had a look at it.

A.N. 2: Oh, so many reviews! You tolerate me! You really tolerate me!

**Chapter 15: Confessions (but unfortunately not the confessions we all want)**

**xXx**

After a brief discussion of their devious plot, Eames brought an audio tape player into the observation room, getting quizzical looks from Deakins and Carver. If she noticed, it didn't show. On the other side of the mirror, her partner entered the room where Simmons was waiting. He sat down and started shuffling through the paperwork he'd carried in, looking hurried and doing the class-act bumbling she admired so much. _How does the smartest man in the state manage to look like such a convincing buffoon_?, she wondered, somewhat proud. The door to the interrogation room opened and a nameless, unimportant officer wheeled a TV into the room, giving Goren a questioning look. "Yeah, that's fine, right over there," the detective gestured to the corner. He turned his attention back to Drake. "Okay, looks like you can get out of here."

"Finally! I told you everything a million times," he insisted.

Goren regarded him with a measure of annoyance. "We're letting you out of here without an obstruction or accessory after the fact charge, you might not want to get too short with us. You, you know, revise your statement to tell the truth, and we let you go. I think that's more than fair."

"But I already-"

"Oh, drop the act!" he said loudly, feigning impatience. "Look, Nicholson already confessed, so you can cut the crap, okay? It doesn't matter anymore."

Simmons scowled. "Nice try, Detective. You really think I'm going to fall for that?"

Goren shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me. Believe me, don't believe me, it's done." He gave the suspect only half his attention, preoccupied with nonexistent, more important things. If you could just sign here and here," he indicated a couple lines on the paperwork. The paper was, in fact, the donation form for the annual police auction. Simmons would have, had he signed, agreed to donate two dozen ceramic cat figurines to the cause. Fortunately, no one ever reads the fine print, and Drake was no exception. He tapped the paper with his pen, still not ready to cave. Goren spared a look at Drake. "You wanna see it?"

"What?" Drake wondered wearily, massaging his temples.

"The confession. I mean, you're lying for her, you should at least see- I mean, Iskra was your fiancée, after all. You really should..." Goren examined his target for signs of an imminent cave-in. Eames too could tell it wasn't far off.

Drake just shrugged at the offer as if to dismiss it, but both Goren and his partner could see the curiosity in Simmons's eyes.

"You know you want to." Goren sounded like a kid offering a cigarette to a peer (which is **Very Bad**. "I mean, that's why I brought this in here." He gestured to the TV in the corner. He held up a DVD that had been stashed in the paperwork, letting it glint temptingly in the light. Goren put it in the player, and blocked Drake's view as he turned the volume all the way down.

Eames gestured for quiet from Carver and her one and only Captain. (Oh yes, I did.) With the perfect, almost supernatural synchronicity the detectives were known for, Eames reversed the feed of the sound system between the observation room and the cold cement space her partner was so artfully dominating. She clicked the tape player on.

Goren's own voice came out of the speaker.

"So you admit that you killed Iskra Kent?" She reversed the feed again and clicked the player off.

"Yes I did," the woman on the screen insisted as Goren upped the volume. "And I don't regret it. Why should I have cared about her? She was pathetic. She didn't deserve him!"

Drake's face had gone a sickly shade of gray. "Foul, vicious, evil little-" he hissed. "She told me she'd been talking to Iskra, that they'd been alone. That if I just said she'd been with me, they would leave her alone. Told me she looked guilty." He let out a snort of unfunny laughter. He started to sob. "I loved Iskra. I wasn't good to her, I admit, but I loved her. It's my fault."

"No, it's not," Goren said softly, pushing down his aversion to the two-timer. Cheaters made him sick. "There's only one person to blame, and she's sitting in that room over there." He pointed to the observation room, and on the other side of that, the other blank interrogation room where Audra was sitting. He pushed a legal pad toward Drake. "You'll need to revise your statement."

**xXx**

Questions to be answered:

Will Drake revise his statement?

Is Audra really the killer?

Does anyone care?

If you don't tell us what's in the gift bag, we will cut you.


	16. Gifts

**Electricity**

**By LMR**

Disclaimer: Dick Wolf and USA gave it to me for a Fourth of July gift. Really. He also gave me sea monkeys.

A.N.: A million thanks to the ever patient Claire (guitar73girl), who didn't even complain when I gave her a Fourth of July raspberry!

A.N. 2: Your reviews make my day!

**Chapter 16: Gifts**

**xXx**

"How could you do this to me?" Audra yelled as the nameless officers hauled her away. "I thought I meant something to you!"

Drake's face remained set, his jaw jutted. After staring her down for a long moment, his expression turned to one of rage. "How could _I _do this? You killed her, you psycho freak!"

"How could you even think that, Drake?" She was in tears, and even Eames and Goren had to admit she was pretty convincing.

"Oh, stop the waterworks, Audra, I saw your confession," he railed.

"My what?! I didn't confe- Why would I- Let go of me!" she shrieked at the officer restraining her. "I never confessed!"

"Sorry about that," Goren said to her innocently. "We might have given him the impression that you had."

"Right before he squashed your alibi," Eames added, allowing herself a little smile.

"You idiot," Audra said to her former paramour, remarkably calm and somewhat incredulous. "I did it for you, as a gift to you, so we could be together and you ruined everything. I should've just let her have you," she added with disgust as she was led away.

Eames shook her head before returning her focus to her desk. "Too bad they're breaking up: They deserve each other." Goren nodded and threw her a sidelong glance and a small smile.

"Oh." Alex suddenly jumped. "I nearly forgot. I got you a Fourth of July present." She put the red gift bag square on top of the Santa mug, and gestured for him to take it.

"Um," Bobby responded, looking at the package with trepidation, as if he expected it to explode and cover him with soot a la Wiley Coyote. _Was I supposed to buy her something?_

"I know, I know, not exactly a normal gift giving holiday, but I thought..." She let her shoulders sink and sighed as if she'd been caught in a lie. "Okay, truth is, it was on a clearance rack, and it was nice, and you were the first person that came to mind when I saw it," she blurted out, gaving a guilty shrug. "That makes me sound like a jerk, doesn't it?" Alex said, sounding abashed. _That makes my giving you a gift seem non-threatening, doesn't it?_

"No, it's saving me from some serious guilt actually, because I have to admit I really didn't think about getting you anything for the Fourth," he said. He reached out for the bag, but seemed reluctant to open it.

Bobby finally reached through the red tissue paper and pulled out a small object. He furrowed his brow when he saw that it was a picture frame, the exact size for the memo. It wasn't like the red rose he'd passed on at the garage sale, but it was fitting for them, in its own way. And she would never know how just how appropriate he thought it was. He looked up at Alex and found her biting her lip, waiting for him to say something.

_"_It's nice," he insisted. "I mean it's really nice, but you're supposed to put a picture in it." Did she not want him to have a picture of her? Did she think that was too intimate?

"I've always hated that," Alex said casually. "It's like putting a condition on the gift." She went back to her paperwork. "Use it for whatever you want. I'm sure you've got something that'll fit." Alex looked back up and let her eyes stay on him for just a moment longer than was completely natural, hoping he would get the idea.

Bobby examined his partner carefully, looking for any sign that she knew what sort of duty she was delivering the little frame into. He tried desperately to remember putting the memo away when she'd gotten to his place. But Alex just looked at him expectantly. "Do you like it?"

"Yeah, I do. Thank you, Alex. And I know just what to use it for." Bobby smiled a little in spite of himself as he fingered the line of fireworks shooting up the side.

**xXx**

Coming soon:

(Oh, Jeeze not another one, you jerk.)

**"The Final Barrier"**

"'The sheriff of Spit-in-the-Road asked if we could spare the two of you for the remainder of the investigation. I told him I didn't think you would really...'

The rest of the Captain's words were a blur to Alex. _Rest of the investigation. No Deakins, Logan, Barek, no anybody we know. Bobby. Me. Probable hotel room._

'I can't speak for Bobby, but I could use some time away.'

_No Captain, no I.A., no regulations. Alex. Me. Middle of nowhere._

'Sounds like fun.'"

xXx

I solemnly swear on the "good" name of LMR that I will not string you along for a third story with no hook-up. I know you don't believe me, and you have no reason to believe me, but I mean it.

_**They're hooking up in this story. **_I mean it. Really. They are really going to hook up. I'm not crossing my fingers behind my back. Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a pizza in my mouth. **(So, Claire, how many people are actually going to believe me?) **

That's the good news. The bad news is that it's going to take longer for this one to show up (it definitely will show up, don't worry about that) because it's about twice as long. This time around, it's half a mystery, half a romance. In other words, about half the chapters will be 'ship only with no case. I can hear your disapointment eye roll. What you're saying is "It's about time she paid attention to the important stuff!"


End file.
